Chapter 169

Chapter 169
Bryson's POV


The clock in the hallway struck five as I reached my father's study. I stood outside the heavy oak door for a moment, my hand raised to knock, feeling the weight of what was about to happen settle over my shoulders. This confrontation was inevitable, and I'd chosen it with my eyes open.

The door swung open before my knuckles could make contact with wood. Cole Doyle stood there in his typical end-of-day attire—dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie loosened just enough to suggest he'd been working hard. His eyes met mine with an expression I couldn't quite read, something colder than anger but more volatile than simple disappointment.

"Come in, Bryson," he said, his voice perfectly level. "We have quite a bit to discuss, I think."

I walked past him into the study, forcing myself not to flinch when I heard the door close behind me with a soft click. The space smelled the way it always did—leather and expensive whiskey and the faint acrid tang of cigar smoke.

Cole moved past me to his desk and settled into his leather chair with casual authority. He didn't invite me to sit, and I understood that this deliberate omission was meant to establish the dynamic from the start—he was the one in power here, and I was expected to stand before him like a subordinate awaiting verdict.

But I didn't let that translate into hunched shoulders and downcast eyes. Instead I stood straight, met his gaze directly, kept my hands loose at my sides. Body language was its own form of communication, and right now I needed to communicate that I wasn't the frightened child he'd spent eighteen years conditioning into obedience.

For a long moment we just looked at each other across the expanse of his desk. I could see him taking my measure, registering something different in my posture that didn't match the script he'd written for this scene. His eyes narrowed fractionally, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

"I received some very interesting phone calls this afternoon," Cole said finally, his tone conversational in a way that set my teeth on edge. "From several members of the Booster Club, from Principal Hendricks, from at least half a dozen parents of your teammates—all of them terribly concerned about a certain spectacle that apparently took place in the main hallway during lunch break today." He paused, leaning forward slightly. "Would you care to enlighten me about what, exactly, they were calling about?"

The question was rhetorical—we both knew he'd already heard every detail. But he wanted me to say it, wanted to make me articulate what I'd done so he could watch me either defend it or try to backtrack.

"I told everyone that Linnet is my girlfriend," I said, keeping my voice steady and clear. "I kissed her in the main hallway where everyone could see. I made it public because I wanted there to be no confusion, no room for anyone to pretend it was something else or dismiss it as a rumor." I paused, holding his gaze. "I wanted you to know, specifically, that I'm serious about her. That I'm not going to hide our relationship or pretend it doesn't exist just because you disapprove."

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. His expression had gone completely blank, that careful neutrality he deployed when he was most dangerous.

"I see," he said finally, and those two words carried more venom than entire paragraphs of shouted accusations could have conveyed. "So you've decided to make a fool of yourself publicly, to embarrass this family in front of the entire school community, all for the sake of some little gold-digger who's clearly using you for access to our money and connections."

He stood up slowly and began to circle around the desk toward me. "Do you have any idea how many phone calls I've had to field today? How many people felt the need to inform me that my son—my son, the star quarterback who's supposed to be focused on winning State and securing his college future—was making out with Sarah Mellor's daughter like some hormone-addled teenager who can't keep his dick in his pants?"

The crudeness was deliberate, designed to reduce what Linnet and I had to something base and animalistic. I felt anger flare hot in my chest, but I channeled it into resolve.

"Her name is Linnet," I said quietly, and I heard the steel in my own voice. "Not 'Sarah Mellor's daughter' or 'that girl' or 'the gold-digger'—her name is Linnet, and she's not using me for anything. She's brilliant and kind and she actually sees me as a person rather than as some trophy or legacy project, which is more than I can say for most people in my life." I took a breath. "And yes, I made it public, because I'm tired of hiding. Tired of pretending. Tired of living my life according to scripts other people have written for me."

Cole stopped his circling and was standing directly in front of me now, close enough that I could see the rage simmering beneath his controlled exterior.

"Scripts other people have written for you," he repeated, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Is that what you think this is? You think I've been controlling you, manipulating you, denying you some authentic self-expression?" He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Everything I've done has been for your benefit, Bryson. Every rule, every expectation, every demand—it's all been to prepare you for the life you deserve, to make sure you don't waste your potential the way so many people do."

"The way you did?" The words were out before I could stop them. I saw his face transform in an instant from controlled anger to something much darker. "That's what this has always been about, isn't it? You're trying to live through me, trying to have the career that got taken away from you when you blew out your knee in college. You're so desperate to reclaim that lost glory that you've never once asked me what I want, what would make me happy—"

The slap came faster than I could register, his open palm connecting with my cheek with enough force to snap my head to the side. Pain exploded across the left side of my face, and I tasted blood where my teeth had cut the inside of my cheek.